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dragonfly11Chapter Nine: Part TWO
He hadn’t cried long. He didn’t have the strength to. And soon he was passed out again in Dean’s powerless arms.
Leaning against the bedroom doorway, powerless arms crossed, Dean watched his baby brother. He was curled on his side, back to the window, sleeping restlessly…and slipping further and further from Dean’s grasp. His mind was getting so confused. His body so weak. Sam could no longer keep up a front and Dean feared…
He had always known how to protect his brother. Always. Since Sam was born, Dean had always known what he needed. His mother had called it Big Brother Intuition.
If Sam were hungry, Dean would know it before their mother did. If Sam wasn’t feeling well, Dean would know it before he’d even cry.
When Sam was hurting physically, or even emotionally, Dean knew he needed a firm voice to gain his attention, but tender words or fingers to swathe the pain...and depending on the severity, maybe a few wiseass remarks to distract him from it all.
When Sam’s life was threatened, Dean knew and he stood in the way of whatever threatened him.
And when he failed, and Sam had died…Dean knew what he needed to do to get him back.
Maybe it was “Big Brother Intuition”…or maybe it was survival instincts. Maybe Dean had inherently known all along…that he could never live without him.
Stricken, Dean closed his eyes when Sammy asked weakly, “Lay with me, daddy?” and leaned back to look up at empty air. Now his brother was losing his mind…and Dean didn’t know... he didn’t know…
With one last pain-filled look, he walked away.
~*~*~*~
John Winchester smiled sadly, looking down on his son. “Sure, Sammy,” he replied thickly, eyes full of emotion.
The scene was peaceful—magic even. Lying side by side they faced each other as the sunlight streamed in through the window, reflecting off dust motes and showering them in golden hues and fairy dust.
Cradling Sammy’s head in his large, calloused hand, John grinned as his son did. A father and son reunited. Innocence was reclaimed and love given a second chance. “I missed you, daddy. Where were you?” Sammy asked softly.
John’s own smile faltered. Brushing a wayward bang from the hazel eyes, “Are you being good for your brother?”
Sammy looked away, anguish consuming his young features.
“Son?”
“I can’t save him,” he choked softly, a tear sliding down his fevered cheek.
John furrowed his brow. “From what?” he rubbed his thumb over the tiny temple encouragingly.
Lips trembling, Sammy’s miserable eyes met his father’s. “From me.”
John looked taken aback…then heartbroken. The boy was so confused.
“Sammy…”
Sunlight streaming in through the window, the scene was peaceful, magic even—a long lost father lying with his son—a second chance, but it was anything but. The soft golden hues could not reach the dark anguish that resided in both of their souls.
And just as quickly as he had come, John was gone. …at least to Sam.
“Dad?” he whispered tentatively, uncertainty in heavy-lidded eyes.
John continued to lay next to his son, desperate to calm his fears—but the boy before him could no longer see him. Adult Sam was resurfacing and with them brought their father’s death and the memory of him passing…to wherever souls finally found their peace.
Stroking the cheek unnoticed, John struggled between the loss of his child’s affection…and the relief that his son was still fighting the effects of the spell.
Sighing, a rare tear escaped his seasoned eyes. They were running out of time. “Hurry, Dean.”
~*~*~*~
“You’re sure?” Bobby asked again, unable to comprehend…unwilling to believe.
Big brown eyes full of liquid sorrow met his.
~*~*~*~
Boots dragging across the pieces of his heart, Dean numbly walked in and sat next to his brother on the bed. It had only been about ten minutes, but he was curled on his side facing the window now, facing Dean and asleep again.
Dean would never get over how the once six-foot-four-inch frame that had trouble fitting on the bed…was now barely bigger than the pillow his head rested on.
/ “I’m built for speeeeed.”/
Throat tight, grinning crookedly, sadly, Dean smoothed down the bedraggled hair with his palm. Secretly he always liked the fact that he kept it longer. He considered it a small shout-out to their childhood… to Dean raising him. Sam’s haircuts had always been his responsibility, but the kid was terrified of any barber he tried to take him to. So, Dean resorted to trimming it himself… only when it’d get to a point where he could be mistaken as his sister…or their father bitched. Whichever came first.
That’s when he had started calling him Samantha.
He doubted Sam knew that. His thumb trembled as it smoothed aside the long strands. There was a lot Sam would never know now…
Eyes stinging, chin trembling he pulled away and wiped an unsteady hand down his face. God… He couldn’t do this.
Jeezus…
He can tell you ten different ways the silver lying around your house can save your life. He’s charged head-on towards things nightmares would shy away from and hunts the nastiest sons of bitches hell can dredge up…sometimes even with a smirk. But he couldn’t do this…
He didn’t know how to do this.
Jeezus…
Finally stealing himself, Dean shakily took the small hand in his own much larger one—palm to palm…and with another piece of his heart falling to waste, called his brother to him. “Sam,” he breathed…barely.
As he waited, tiny warm fingers in his hand, he remembered them tying shoes for the very first time. Sam had been so proud, but no prouder than Dean.
They were the same little fingers that used to claw after him, pretending to be a monster he hadn’t learned actually existed yet…
They were the same hands that used to reach for him while crossing the street…
They were the same small hands that had eventually grown strong and saved his life time and time again…
God…
Grief already unbearable, face crumbling, Dean turned away.
He’d just been told that his little brother— whom he had practically raised since birth, whom he had no soul left to barter for…was going to die.
/ “Baby, that boy’s little body of his is…”
“Is what?” he demanded, looking between the two.
“It’s dying, son,” Bobby finally said. /
“Dad?” came a sleepy murmur that left Dean’s heart aching even more.
“No,” he breathed brokenly, “It’s me, Samm...Sam.”
Blinking, Sam looked up at him. “Wad…?” His breathing was already labored, brow already creased with pain.
/ “It’s under too much stress, honey. It can’t handle the two fighting for control.”/
The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up slightly, but sorrowfully as he looked down at the hand in his. “Jus’…” he cleared his throat, dislodging the lump that had already formed there. “Just checkin’ to make sure you haven’t gotten any smaller,” he finally managed, but left his hand were it was.
“Dean?” If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that was Sammy.
/ “Wha…” Dean shook his head. “Well there has to be something. We’re not just gonna give up!”/
The older hunter fought hard to keep the anguish that was twisting apart his heart from showing on his face. “Sam…” he rasped. He needed to get this over with. He wasn’t the only one hurting. Just by calling Sam to him, he was causing his brother pain. It seemed he only got to talk to him anymore when he was in pain.
Brow furrowed, Sam tried to sit up, “s’wrong?” but Dean placed a hand over his shoulder and eased him back. “Sam, you can barely speak…”
So Sam grappled for the wrist his palm was resting on.
“Nothin’s wrong,” Dean lied. “I just…” The small hand tugged and Dean had never wanted to run from his brother so badly before in his life. But wrapping his fingers around the down-sized arm that was holding onto his, Dean tightened his jaw along with his resolve. “I’ve…I’ve always done the best I could for you,” he said roughly. “You know that, right?”
Tiny fingers squeezed. “You’re,” Sam panted, already fighting just to keep his eyes open, “scarin’…me, man.”
“Jus’ answer me,” Dean pressed thickly, miserably. “You know, right?”
Trying so hard to stay focused on him, Sam nodded. And when his eyes suddenly drifted shut, he squeezed Dean’s wrist harder, just as Dean gripped back—desperately holding on… “Sam…” desperately holding on…so he could tell his baby brother…
God…
…to let go.
“Sam,” his voice hitched, but he pushed on. He had to do this. “Sam…I want…I need you to do something for me. You hear?”
The eyes struggled open and Dean’s head bowed under the weight of what he was about to say. He moved the hand that had been gripping Sam’s shoulder to cup the side of his face. “Sam…” tying shoes for the first time…crossing the street…
He’d just learned that his baby brother was going to die…
/ “There is one way…”
“What?”
“…but neither of you are gonna like it.”/
…but he also just learned…that he didn’t have to.
He squared his jaw.
He didn’t have to.
“Sam, I need you to stop fighting,” he finally pushed the god-awful words out. “Understand me?” He tightened his trembling grip, trying to make it an order as he met his brother’s eyes. “You’ll be okay, if you just stop fighting it.”
Lips trembling, little chest heaving, Sam shook his head. He knew what it meant, just as well as Dean did. If Sam let go, he’d revert completely. He wouldn’t know his brother still needed saving. He’d never know the sacrifice he made for him and everything that made Sam who he was today, would die when he stopped fighting.
“Sam,” It was as much of a plea as Dean had ever made. “you can start new. Get a whole new life…I’m sure Bobby will spoil the hell outta you. And, hey, you already have that dog you’ve always wanted…” he tried pitifully, fake smile falling away painfully when it did nothing to help convince him to let go too.
It shouldn’t be so hard, damnit. Wasn’t this what he had wanted? Another chance for his brother?
Wasn’t this what he had wanted?
Shaking, Sam shook his head fervently, too worn to hold back a sob.
Closing his eyes—unable to bear seeing the pain he was causing his brother, Dean turned away. A tear slid down his own cheek. “Sam,” he breathed raggedly, searching for the words that would convince them both.
“No.”
“Damnit, Sam!” he hollered, turning back and jostling him slightly. Desperately. “You can live.”
“Not…” Sam whispered brokenly, near the end of his reserves, but not his conviction. Fumbling to latch onto the wrist still cupping the side of his face, he fought for breath through his own desperation and pain. “Not,” he choked, using every last bit of strength he had holding his brother’s gaze, “without. you.”
-
-
-
Tears in their eyes they wordlessly clung to each other then—while one struggled so hard to hold on, and the other struggled even harder…to let go.
Chapter 10 Part One
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Date: 15 Mar 2009 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Mar 2009 03:19 am (UTC)Thank YOU! And working on the next part you are??
hee hee.
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Date: 15 Mar 2009 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Mar 2009 11:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Mar 2009 12:24 pm (UTC)